


Angelic Temptation and Demonic Love

by horndog5000



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Enthusiastic Consent, First Kiss, Fluff, I just fucking love love dudes, IN SPACE!, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Love, Love Confessions, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other, Romantic Fluff, Surprise Kissing, The Wall Scene, This is literally just some cute shit, True Love's Kiss, Vivid descriptions of kissing and feelings, sorta but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 21:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20316580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horndog5000/pseuds/horndog5000
Summary: A kiss 6,000 years in the making, lust having brewed for just as long and love that will literally last forever.What should have happened when Crowley pinned Aziraphale to that nunnery wall.





	Angelic Temptation and Demonic Love

**Author's Note:**

> My first Good Omens fic had to be the mushiest, lovey-dovey crap in existence, huh?  
Yeah, seems pretty accurate. Aziraphale and Crowley are wholesome beans

Why Crowley insisted on posing like a threatened cocker spaniel was beyond Aziraphale. I mean, the angel was only trying to pay him a sincere compliment, but the demon had to go grab, drag, skid, thump; and bam, here they were.   
Aziraphale- pressed against the wall of this former nunnery, his favourite coat getting wrinkles in it and his best bow tie becoming crooked under Crowley's harsh grip.  
And Crowley himself- flushed against his front, so close that their noses were touching and rambling on about.. something. Aziraphale wasn't really paying attention. He was too busy pondering over the notion that Crowley probably spent more time sticking out his chest flap, fanning out his neck skin, ruffling up his feathers and vibrating his tongue against the roof of his mouth, than he did just about anything else; and whilst it had proven most effective in the case of mortals, it did him a fat load of good in front of Aziraphale. The angel knew him better than to have fear after all these years. Besides, if push actually came to shove, he'd have wagered that an ex-soldier in the ethereal army, capable of brandishing a flaming magical sword, could take an all bark, very little bite Queen fan in demon's clothing. Not that he'd ever want to, of course.  
Oh dear, was he still going? Aziraphale hoped that there wouldn't be a quiz later. He must have struck a nerve this time as Crowley's tantrums rarely went on this long.  
He sure was close. Had he ever been this close to him before? Over the centuries, he could certainly recall times in which their hands would brush as they reached for the Bentley's stereo dial, or their shoulders would touch as they talked over a play (Aziraphale out of excitement and Crowley, well, because he liked talking to his angel).  
Or there was even that one time in the fourteenth century when Crowley attempted to sleep through the better part of a hundred years. Aziraphale had begun visiting him every now and then to check on his beloved demon's semi-permanent slumber; and once, when he'd stopped by, he'd noticed that a curl had dislodged itself from its abode and materialised down the middle of Crowley's face. After months of hee-ing and haw-ing about it, and hoping that Crowley would roll over in his sleep again thus shuffling it back into place, Aziraphale finally got up the courage to brush the rebellious strand back up into its home.  
This, however, was so much more than a light scraping of knuckles along a dozing demon's forehead. From this distance, Aziraphale could see the outline of Crowley's eyes through his sunglasses; although those piercing yellow orbs with their black, slit irises were still perfectly masked behind the marble shades. He could feel the hot breath Crowley used to push out his every word fan across his upper lip and spreading over his mouth. Aziraphale could feel the rise and fall of the demon's chest as it pressed tight against his own; the weight comparable to how he imagined a large dog would also feel upon him.  
Gaze sliding down that angular nose, the angel's sage green eyes met his prize. Crowley's lips were pale pink in colour, rounded in the middle and slopping down along the sides. Usually they would be holding a cocky smirk, or an unamused scowl. On very special occasions, they could even be seen giving shape to a smile. But now the demon's lips held none of these things. Instead, they were scrunched up in a tight snarl; his teeth barred within them as if he was poised to snap.  
How distressingly dreadful.  
How Aziraphale wished to miracle away such deplorable abuse of those exquisite lips; to return them to their usual smirking or scowling positions, to return them to their former glory if you will.  
And it was those very same thoughts of restoration and longing and beauty that propelled the angel forward; tilting his head ever so slightly and capturing those bewitching lips within his own, and oh my!  
So, this was what all the fuss was about. This was kissing!  
The heart that had sat useless within Aziraphale’s chest since creation itself, had suddenly thumped to life; beating out a mile a minute to the rhythm of a Queen song he couldn't quite name. A swell had risen inside his tummy as if his celestial body had been pumped full of helium. An achingly sweet feeling rested there, making his legs feel weak.  
The most indescribable feeling of all, however, was that which cupped his lips. No novelist, nor poet, nor playwright; not his precious Oscar Wilde nor his comrade William Shakespeare; not even the Almighty's followers themselves, who had written of Her wishes with such articulation and artistry and grace, could ever, EVER begin to describe the feeling of Crowley's lips against his own. Nothing could ever compare or be used to compare for they would all fail in comparison, and dull the light with which was made between these two ethereal, destined beings.  
They both felt as if they were floating but a floating like this did not take place within the air. These two empyrean entities were suspended in a space both empty and alive. A space containing nothing- no humans, no angels, no demons and no God; watching and scrutinising their every move, their very love. Nothing and no one but them, lost in their expression of a six-thousand-year longing finally being conveyed in a single dazzling action.  
And bursting at the seams with fireworks of primary colours, explosions sounding in their ears, as reds and yellows and greens and blues consumed the space around them.  
The grip upon Aziraphale's collar had all but disappeared; the presence of hands, lingering like a half-forgotten dream. The body that had, up until a second earlier, been pressing him insistently against the nunnery wall; had become soft under the angel's touch. In fact, everything had gone soft the moment that their lips had met. The lips locked with his own were so much gentler than Aziraphale had expected, as they tentatively pressed back. Unsure but hopeful. Nervous but craving. Crowley was always so full of surprises.  
Indeed everything had gone soft in this moment. Everything bar one.. or, oh!  
"Excuse me, gentlemen?"  
The unexpected voice-clacking combo startled Crowley, causing him to disconnect their lips in a haste. A wet pop sounded in the air, but their bodies remained flushed together.  
Goodness, wasn't Crowley a picture? Kiss reddened lips remained slightly parted, as if they were still anticipating the angel's tongue to enter through them. A blush had crept up his features and made the apples of his cheeks, the tips of his ears and the bridge of his nose closely match the colour of his hair. His chest was rising and falling, strangely similar to how a human's would when out of breath. Aziraphale briefly wondered if this exchange had also awakened organs never necessary to use, but necessary to have, inside of his demon. But such a wonderment was short lived, as his line of sight trailed upward and landed on the askew sunglasses balancing on the bridge of Crowley's nose. Those sunshine yellow eyes glowed in the shadows that fell between them and that was it. Those eyes. That was where Aziraphale's love truly lied. Within the eyes, within the soul, of his magnificent demon.  
"Sorry to break up an intimate moment."  
Aziraphale clicked his fingers and the woman approaching down the end of the hall stopped in her tracks.  
Crowley looked at his angel and a gaze of sheer, unadulterated, unabashed love lay upon the face that stared back. And after all that was said, that was admitted to and laid bare between them with that singular sweeping action, all Crowley could possibly do was smile up into those eyes; full to the very brim with mirth and joy and love.


End file.
